Monster Run
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: Sequel to last Halloween's fic, 'Monster Works'. After another restless oversummer, the not-so-human Bishops awaken to find pieces of their lives missing, and pieces of their pasts revealed.
1. Chapter 1

_Fringe tonight, y'all! Also, the fall equinox, which can only mean one thing- the monster!Bishops are up! This is the sequel of my preveious creation, _Monster Works_, which was written around this time last year, for Halloween. So, in the name of tradition, I present an AU about a strange set of genetic circumstances._

_Happy Halloween!_

Chapter One.

His mind knew that it had been approximately fourteen days since his father's last nightmare. But he never could keep track of how long he had been hibernating.

A low purring registered in his ears, and the feel of a scratchy, sandpaper-like tongue on his forehead. His first instinct was to nuzzle closer to the feeling of comfort, the warmth of another body draped over his own, but as he blinked away the film of dust over his eyes and felt the stinging stretch of his altogether unhealthily thin skin, a frown formed on his sunken face, "Walter," he said, his voice grainy and mouth dry.

Walter continued to purr, preening his son's hairline, his hands gathering and releasing the feather pillow under Peter's shoulder in a display of comfortable joy. Peter half-smiled, and shifted away from his affections, pushing his way to the surface of Walter's autumn grey wings, blinking in the strained light of the morning sun. He raised his arm to rub the wet from his face, and took in a deep breath of the cold, dusty air of his bedroom, "Walter, wake up," he said softly, stifling a yawn, "It's fall."

Walter started slightly, his rumbling purring fading as he blinked awake, his narrow pupils expanding into circles once more, "Hmm?" he questioned. He flashed fangs as he yawned widely, stretching his lean form across the mattress, his spine popping every now and again. He sighed, lying uselessly on his side as his tail twitched under the sheets, "Pancakes," he murmured with a smile.

"No pancakes," Peter replied, pushing the blankets away to swing his legs over the side of the bed, "I need something to drink. Hopefully the plumbing in the sink isn't as bad as last year..."

"I had a good dream," Walter said, as Peter shuffled across the creaking wood floor to the open bathroom door.

"Yeah?" Peter said, twisting on the tap. He smiled slightly as the water ran clear, but frowned as it tasted stale.

"About you, when you were young," Walter explained fondly, "and tomatoes, from the garden we had in Charleston. It was quite wonderful." He watched the ceiling for a few moments, before rolling on his side to watch the bathroom door, "What about you? What did you dream about, son?"

"Not tomatoes," Peter replied with a smirk, splashing his face with water in the porcelain basin.

"Oh-ho!" Walter chuckled, at last sitting up to scratch his bare chest, "Olivia, then?"

"Go start coffee, I'm still grumpy," Peter frowned, "and what did I tell you about wearing a shirt?"

xXx

A wind storm appeared to be on them, which explained the amount of dust suspended in the cool air of the house. They were in luck- only one of the windows had been broken, during oversummer (not speaking, of course, for Walter's room- the glass had been missing for years. Peter simply ignored his father's space entirely.). The plywood they had nailed up over the door six months earlier showed only minor tampering, and, in all, the house appeared to be in decent condition. He had done well, fortifying their nest.

"Walter?" Peter called as he leapt the barrister of the stairs, wings flaring slightly to soften his landing.

"Bacon!" Walter called back from the kitchen. Frowning with concern, Peter followed the noises of pantry rummaging, "Oop- I'm sorry, Peter, I meant to say 'here', but I've just found bacon in the icebox, hah..."

"Refrigerator," Peter corrected, "the one in the basement?" He made a slight face at the three dead mice lying on the countertop, freshly killed, "Did we get flooded, again?"

"Not from what I saw. I left you a snack on the counter, Peter... just until I can get the pancakes started."

"Yeah, thanks," Peter replied flatly, brushing the rodents off the counter and into the empty wastebasket. He took a seat at the breakfast bar, "Can we _please_ not have pancakes?"

"I knew you'd ask, and I've only just found the surprise ingredient," Walter purred, emerging from the pantry nibbling spider webs from his fingers, and he held up a yellow package of Tollhouse chocolate chips, beaming, "See?"

Peter raised a brow, "How did those get past you, before oversummer?"

Walter shrugged, "Dunno. I'll get the batter mix," he stooped to begin rummaging around for a bowl.

"I'll wait for Astrid, thanks," Peter replied, his eyes straying to the empty coffee maker. He frowned again, and rose, going to the machine, plucking at the note taped to the glass pitcher, "What's this?"

"What's what?" Walter questioned, squinting at the pancake mixing instructions carefully.

"It's a note from Astrid," Peter murmured, mostly to himself, and he unfolded it carefully, his eyes scanning her neat, loopy writing, "...it says she's going to be gone for about a month."

Walter paused in his stirring, his pupils contracting slightly as he glanced at his son, "Why?" he asked sharply.

"It doesn't say," Peter replied, wandering over to his father to offer him the note, "she says that she'll be in Seattle for the summer, and that she left some supplies for us at her place." Walter took the note from him, squinting at the print suspiciously.

"Oh," he commented hollowly. He set the note on the counter, and returned to is mixing. He sighed through his nose, and Peter set a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, "I guess you'll have to settle for my pancakes, then."

Peter smiled wryly, "I guess. But only if you make peanut butter syrup." A smile tugged at the corner of Walter's mouth, and Peter patted his back, "We'll be alright, Walter. I'll make coffee."

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two.

Peter was a bit flustered- there was a bit less to do, less to buy materials to repair. He liked having something to do, it allowed time to pass more easily- he supposed that he could take his father to collect the supplies Astrid had left for them, but he couldn't help but stand for a few moments at a time, gazing absently down the road.

She said she'd be there, around the equinox. But as to _when_, that was the mystery.

He just had to bide his time.

"Walter, I can tell you're awake!" Peter called up the stairs, as he stooped to collect his father's cast-off cardigan from the sofa. He paused to straighten the rather horridly orange afgan, and draped the article over his forearm as he called again, "...Walter?"

Peter looked up and his father descended the stairs- something he never normally did, he liked to jump them. Peter's brows shot up on his forehead, when he saw his father's garb, "Peter," Walter answered, shifting the buckles of the belts across his chest, holding his wings tightly to his spine. He began to button his flannel over them.

"Walter, what are you doing?"

"I'm done packing. We have to go to Seattle."

"What?" Peter stammered, half-laughing, half exasperated, "No, Walter, we can't-"

"If she's in Seattle, I have to go to Seattle-"

"Walter, we're not going to Washington," Peter said flatly, crossing his arms across his chest as Walter was tucking his shirttails into the front of his slacks, "Astrid'll be back soon enough. Besides, you hate Washington."

"I've been to Washington?" Walter questioned, tilting his head curiously.

Peter shook his head with a tired chuckle, "Yes, you have. C'mon- I've still got to get the groceries from the store, and we'll swing by Astrid's on the way back. And your horns are showing. _And don't make any jokes about it._" Peter tossed him his cardigan on his way to the garage.

The front porch squeaked and groaned under his boots, his heels scuffing the dust, and he paused to inhale the swiftly-moving air. He missed Astrid, too, the feeling all the more painful as he had a sudden thirst for a Coke, and a taste for her pumpkin pie... he had to shake his head to clear the thoughts away, and swallowed a few times to stop his mouth from watering. He raised his hand to his brow to shade his eyes, squinting in the glare of the gold-colored dead grass that surrounded their remote home.

It felt alive, with secrets.

Peter hadn't grown up in this house, but he had been born there. His kind was known to return to their place of birth, to have pups... Walter and his mother had chosen to return here, as his father had been born in a small abbey in London that was now a parking structure. It was strange how this place always seemed to remain unchanged, no matter how much he worked on it. He knew why the old 'haunted house' stories Astrid had spread among the community had stuck, he supposed that humans got a very strange feeling, from the place. Like smelling a predator.

Peter jumped the last step to the off-set stone path along the side of the house, toward the metal shed that housed the old, battered Vista Cruiser that had somehow managed to survive s1o many years of use and abandonment. Peter fished a ring of keys from the pocket of his jeans, thumbing through them to pluck out a key for the brass-colored master padlock holding the garage door shut.

He had managed to clear out most of the cardboard boxes of Walter's papers and old bowling trophies the year before, and the door protested only slightly to his intrusion as he forced it back, on the rollers, clattering loudly. Peter coughed a bit, waving away the swirling dust particles in the air. He sucked his teeth at the off-green station wagon, knowing that he was going to have to change out the fluids, before he could get going.

"Peter."

Peter jumped at the voice in his ear, swallowing back a hiss as his eyes narrowed, "Walter! Don't do that!"

"Sorry, I know you're still sleepy," Walter apologized, and Peter frowned, "It's just that I think we may have had visitors, in our sleep."

"Yes, Astrid-"

"Not her truck. A sedan, I believe. Two occupants; possibly one, but only if they were exceedingly heavy." Walter turned in his spot to point to the empty driveway, "I saw tracks."

Peter rolled his eyes, "So what if someone did come? They didn't _find_ us, obviously."

"They didn't get out of the car."

"Maybe they were lost."

Walter only shrugged one shoulder, chewing his cheek in thought as he continued to gaze at the driveway. Peter shook his head, "Calm down, paranoia agent. Help me with the car, and we can get this show on the road."

xXx

The same store, the same faded pink flyer in the window. The same smell of spiced candles and candy corn to remind him of her.

Walter was fidgeting as they entered, glancing back and forth across the aisles nervously as Peter selected a basket, unwadding the list from his pocket to have a look at it, "Quit," he hissed to his father quietly, "they're gonna think you wanna rob the place."

"Humans..." Walter blinked a few times to keep his pupils from narrowing, and shook his head.

"Go have a look at the craft department, see if they have any paper you like," Peter answered, catering to his father's hobby of kite making, "I'll find you went I'm ready to check out. Don't steal any candy; I'll but you what you want."

"Okay." He suddenly stopped his son before he could pass, "Oh, Peter. Kipper snacks," he motioned to the folded bit of paper in his hand.

"It's on the list," Peter nodded, and left his father there. He didn't know where he would find such a strange request, but he knew that he could distract him with a few cans of tuna long enough for him to forget.

Peter was pacing down the aisle toward the preserves, when her slowed, his eyes straying to the display to his side. Glitter incrusted orange bows, smiling cartoon cats in witch hats, pumpkins. And a 'monster', snarling with triangular teeth and green eyes.

He and his father had blue eyes, and ate celery like everyone else. Well, Walter only liked it with raisins and peanut butter.

"Decorating for the holidays?" someone questioned at his ear, and Peter jumped for the second time that day.

"Oh," he stammered, his wings at his back tightening the belts across his chest as they tried to flare, "I'm sorry, you scared me a little."

"It's alright," the woman that stood before him smiled warmly, shifting the basket in the crook of her arm, "it's a little difficult to stay awake this time of year, I find."

"Yes," Peter replied, even as the hair on the tuft of his tail puffed out, his skin prickling.

"Hmm. Well, happy Halloween, young man," she said, selecting bundle of willow twigs from the shelf and settled them in with the rest of her purchases, and moved away down the aisle in uncharacteristically smooth motions, her red tresses blending with the fiery colors of the fall.

Peter stared after her as she went.

"Peter," Walter had appeared at the other end of the aisle, and Peter turned to face him. Walter strode toward him, a bewildered look on his face as he settled a roll of heavy waxed construction paper, sunshine yellow, into the basket, "Do you… smell that?"

"Smell what?"

Walter glanced around the aisle, his pupils narrowing as he inhaled again. He sighed, and cracked his neck, "Nothing, never mind. I got this color for Olivia- do you think she'll like it?"

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

It was raining, by the time they reached Astrid's small farmhouse. The little yellow house looked soggy and miserable, in the downpour, the shiplap sidepaneling was strangely pale, in the overcast.

Peter pulled the station wagon up as close to her stone path as he could, and they hurried up the steps onto the large porch as quickly as they could, avoiding the wet. As Walter shook the rain from his hair like a dog, Peter's gaze spanned the gloomy place.

The hummingbird feeder was empty, the white dutch shutters drawn over the little windows on either side of the large, brick-red door. Her many windchimes had been tangled in the wind, in the time she had been gone, clicking pathetically as they were forced together.

Even the house missed Astrid.

"Come on, Walter," Peter said, stooping to lift a heavy terricotta planting pot filled with small, dark riverstones. He plucked the spare key out from under it, "Let's get inside, and get out of here."

Walter only nodded, rubbing his horns dry with his sleeve.

Peter kicked his boots clean on the mat as he twisted the key in the lock, forcing back the tumblers and alowing the door to swing open. The only sound in the quiet house was that of the ticking kitchen clock, occasionally drummed out by the rain on the tin roof. Peter blinked his eyes a few times to get used to the dark, before Walter pushed past him to head for the stairs, "She's not here," Peter called after him, and after a silence, sighed.

Peter rounded the livingroom, knowing where Astrid would leave her note; in the kitchen, on the refrigerator, presumably where she thought Walter would check first. Peter smiled as he spotted Astrid's red-and-white checkered country-living stationary, and plucked her note out from under the Jackrabbit Slim's magnet.

_Hey guys!_

_ I didn't want to leave you without anything before I left on my trip, so I've left some stuff you might find useful in the boxes on the kitchen table. It's just some clothes, mostly sweaters, I don't want either of you getting sick. There are some popsickle sticks Walter can have on the desk in the livingroom, as long as he promises not to chew on them. I hope you guys are okay, and I should be back soon._

_All my love, Astrid_

"She's not here," Walter keened from the doorway.

"I know," Peter replied, folding the note and tucking it into his pocket. He turned to see his father holding an orange sweater, his favorite one that Astrid wore, to his chest. Peter sighed with a sad smile, "Come on, Walter, help me get these boxes out to the car."

"Did she leave a telephone number?" Walter questioned hopefully in a small voice.

"No. Stop worrying, she'll be back in time to make pumpkin pies, I promise," Peter stacked two of the full cardboard boxes on top of eachother, hefting them up from the table, "besides, we have to get home and make sure the house isn't leaking."

Walter looked back into the dark living room, a low, soft whine sounding from his throat.

Peter set the boxes down, pulling out a chair for his father, "I'll make tea."

xXx

The rain had cleared, a bright full moon arizing late on an inky sky. Peter was mopping out the leak damage in the upstairs bathroom when he began to feel his skin tingle, and he paused in ringing out his hand towel in the sink. A smile spread across his face, and he dropped what he was doing, slamming the bathroom door as he bulleted into the hall.

"Walter!" Peter called as he arrived on the landing, and his father was dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe in the study, "Olivia's here!"

"I just finished her kite, I'll make iced tea!" Walter replied, shuffling off for the kitchen. Peter ignored him, and emerged on the poarch, peering off down the driveway hopefully. Over the whistle of the wind across the power lines, he could hear the snapping of tall weeds as she walked, and he leapt to grab the porch braces and haul himself up, grunting at he clawed his way onto the roof to get a better look. He supposed that his grin looked rather stupid, stretched across his face carelessly, especially when Olivia paused, waving distantly.

Peter laughed, jumping from his perch to sprint toward her.

Olivia was sluging down the muddy road when he arrived, slightly breathlessly, "Hey, Mister," she said with a smirk, brushing a stray hair from her eyes in a manner that he had quickly fallen for, "I hear there's a house with monsters, out here."

"You'd best be careful, then," Peter replied.

"Peter!" She laughed, bursting forward to wrap her arms around his neck, and he squeezed her tightly.

"Welcome back," Peter purred into her hair. He stooped for a kiss, his tail circling her leg.

"How are you?" Olivia questioned, as he held her shoulders and they strode along together.

"Very happy," Peter replied, nuzziling her bangs, "I dreamed about you."

"Good dreams?"

"The best."

"I missed you," Olivia sighed, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek against his chest. Peter began to purr again, stroking the back of her neck gently, "I was scared that you wouldn't be here, that something would happen and you'd be gone…"

"I'm not going anywhere," Peter promised.

"How is everyone?" Olivia asked as they mounted the steps to the house, and the front door was still open, "Walter? Astrid?"

"Ah," Peter said, "Well, Walter—"

"Olivia! Walter chirruped, emerging from the kitchen, "You're Just in time! I've made iced tea and pancakes!"

Peter frowned as Olivia laughed quietly, "...Is the same as ever, it seems."

"Sounds good, Walter," Olivia replied, as she stepped forward to give him a hug, "Where's Astrid? Did she go home for the night? I know I'm here late, but-"

Walter's smile faltered only for a moment as he replied, "She's in Seattle. But she'll be back soon enough, don't worry, my dear." He turned, leading the march into the kitchen.

"Why is it always pancakes?" Olivia asked quietly.

"It's the only thing he can cook," Peter answered lowly.

"Is not!" Walter protested.

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four.

His fingers traced along the long, slow curves of her skin, and he frowned as he found chill bumps, "Is it too cold?" he questioned, pulling the blanket around her.

Olivia chuckled sleepily, her hand catching his in the dark, "Peter, I'm fine. Quit fussing."

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable," he replied, "I know that you... that humans are different, they like soft things..."

"And you don't like soft things?" She questioned with a smile that he could hear.

"Oh, I like soft things," Peter whispered, gathering her to him to lick the back of her ear, "You're very soft, and I like you."

"I like you, too," Olivia whispered in reply, and a purr emerged from his throat before he could stop it. She raised her hand to grace her fingers along his wings as he shrugged them around her. "Sometimes I think you're a dream."

"How do you mean?"

"When I was away. Every morning I would wake up, and wonder if I'd dreamed everything, last year," she shifted to look up at him, placing a hand on his cheek, "It all seemed so unreal. You seemed unreal, Walter... even this house... when I was growing up, my friends and I would dare each other to come up here, but none of us ever did..." she sighed quietly, "You were waiting here, all this time."

"It was worth the wait," Peter said.

"I want to stay here," Olivia said, a hint of strain in her dusky voice, "I don't want to go back to New York."

Peter felt his chest expand with a mixture of absolute joy and horrible longing, "You can't."

"Why?"

All at once it struck him- _you can't_. She was human, he was... a monster. Terror flicked across his mind like electricity, and he swallowed, his grip around her tightening, "I'm different."

"And I love you."

"I'm very, very different. Olivia, I'm... I don't know if..."

She took his chin in her fingers, kissing him gently, and working his jaw like a puppet, mimicking his voice, "I wuv you too, Liv," she smiled.

He pulled out of her hold, laughing as he gripped her around the wrists and pinned her to the mattress.

xXx

Breakfast was cheerios, before Peter had to drive Olivia back to her sister's house in the rural suburbs of the township, "I can't believe you walk all this way," he was commenting as they pulled to a halt on the curb.

"Why wouldn't I?" she said with a smile, "it's the only way I can sneak up on you."

"But it's starting to get cold, and I don't want you getting sick. Just call me, I'll come and pick you up."

Olivia rolled her eyes and kicked open the door, stepping out onto the pavement.

A faded pink bicycle with tattered purple tassels and fallen leaves littered the yellowing lawn, overgrown around the cement steps and a leaking faucet, and Peter took the house it as they strode past the dented Jeep in the driveway and to the door.

This was how humans lived? No dust, no wind, no feathers?

"AUNT LIV!" Ella erupted from the front door before they had a chance to ring the doorbell, colliding with Olivia's middle and squeezing tightly.

"Whoa!" Olivia laughed, stooping to scoop up her niece, "look at you! I've only been gone a little while, and look how much you've grown!"

Ella giggled, "You say that every year!"

"Yes, _but_..." Olivia shifted Ella in her arms, delving into her pocket to draw something out, "This year, I think you're big enough for _this_."

Ella took the large, glass magnifying glass, peering into it with awe, "Do you use this to find bad guys, aunt Liv?" she questioned excitedly.

"Sometimes," Olivia replied, setting her back on her feet.

"It's more for burning ants," Peter chuckled.

"PETER!" Ella rocket toward him, glomping his waist.

"Please don't teach her to burn things, Peter," Rachel arrived in the doorway, and she hugged Olivia, "where are your bags?" she questioned.

"Ah- well, they should be coming in on the next flight, I guess they mixed them up at the airport..."

"Well, come on in," Rachel said, stepping away from the doorway to allow access into the house, "How do you take your coffee, Peter?"

"Oh- no, I'm sorry, I've got to get back to the house, Walter needs some help with the housework," Peter at last managed to pry Elle off of himself, and knelt to talk to her, "I've got to get out of here, kiddo. But I'll be back soon, okay?'

"Can we go trick-or-treating again, on Halloween?" Ella questioned.

Peter touched the tip of her nose with a wink, "As soon as you figure out what you're going as." he stood, "Thanks anyways, Rachel. Liv..." he leaned in to kiss her, "I'll call you. Bye."

"Bye," Olivia replied, looking concerned.

"Bye," Rachel called after him, as e fled down the path, "girl, you've got to tell me how you do it..." she muttered to Olivia.

Peter was silent as he drove away from the house, and he did not look back. Nagging guilt followed him, down the interstate, down the dirt drive back to the house.

He was splitting wood when he realized that he was lying.

Peter glanced up from returning the axe to the garage as he heard the sound of an engine, a familiar one, and his eyes brightened, his previous melancholy swept away in excitement as he hurried down the side of the house toward the back door.

Walter was melting green army men on the stove burner when Peter burst through the kitchen door, "Walter!" He exclaimed with a breathless smile, "Walter, Astrid's back!"

Walter was chewing plastic from his burnt finger with a frown, "Hello to you too, son," he muttered.

"No, Walter- she's back from Seattle! She got off the plane this morning; her truck is coming up the driveway!"

Walter blinked at him blankly, before his eyes rounded and his wings flared slightly, "You...? She's...?"

Peter laughed as Walter launched himself from his chair, stumbling and nearly falling on the slick tile floor on his way toward the window, scrambling past the curtains on his way out. Peter nearly followed on his way to the door, but stayed behind to turn off the burner.

Astrid was shutting the door of her beige Ford as Walter cleared the porch railing, grinning broadly as his tail twitched upward in excitement. Astrid let out a laugh as he scooped her up into a hug, swinging her in a small circle before settling her back on her feet, "You're home!" he breathed happily, and pulled her in for a kiss.

Astrid retracted immediately, "Whoa, Walter, um..."

"What is it?" Walter questioned. His smile slowly faded, as his pupils narrowed, "You smell different..."

"Walter, I'd like you to meet someone," Astrid said with an uneasy smile, stepping out of his hold.

The passenger door of her truck slammed, and a tall, dark-haired man stood in the dusty driveway, pushing bomber glasses onto his forehead. He slid his hands into his pockets, surveying his surroundings calmly, and he nodded to Peter on the porch, "Yo."

"This is Brandon, he's visiting from Seattle," Astrid said, stepping back to take his arm, "He's... sort of my boyfriend."

xXx


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five.

The ticking of the kitchen clock was unbearable. Each sound made Peter wince only slightly, stinging like an ant bite. And tension was like snapping a hamstring.

Walter was eating fried chicken as he mused over a broken pocket watch on the kitchen table, and Astrid stood at the stove, her arms crossed across her chest and her head bowed. Brandon, seeming completely at ease, slurped his iced tea, swirling the undiluted grains of sugar in the bottom of the tall glass before returning to musing the painted porcelain plates that decorated the wall beside the back door.

"I like the one with the boat," he said casually, nodding to it to break the silence.

Walter crushed a leg bone with his teeth.

Peter cleared his throat, "Yeah, they're pretty cool. I'm sorry, what was it you said you do, again?"

Brandon at once seemed all too happy to talk about himself, "Oh! I'm sort of doing a study, at the University, about you guys. Well, your type. Species. An anthropology thing."

"A study?" Peter questioned, surprised, "About monsters?"

Brandon snorted, "Monsters?"

Peter frowned slightly, "What else would you call us?"

Brandon smiled, "That's just it, right? What should we call you? That's what I'm trying to decide. There's so much about you- your species- that we don't know; where you came from, how you evolved, your interaction with humans, how you've managed to stay hidden among humans for so long-" Brandon paused, as Walter was chewing bone, "Um, quick thing, but... should he be eating those? Bird bones splinter, they could puncture the trachea-"

Walter stood, wiped his lips on his napkin, and left the kitchen, his tail knocking the cabinets and door frame behind him.

"See, like that! Why did he do that?"

"Because you pissed him off," Peter replied flatly, "and you're starting to piss me off, too."

"You're the dominant male, aren't you? Of your pride? I hope you don't think of me as a threat or anything." Brandon sipped his tea again, watching Peter with immense interest.

Peter faced Astrid, tight-lipped, "Astrid, we need to talk."

He followed her down the uneven cement steps out the back door, letting the screen door clatter shut as she turned toward him, drawing herself up to speak, "Save it," Peter snapped, and Astrid retracted slightly, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Peter-"

"Who the hell is that, and what gives you the right to think you can bring a stranger here? Do you have any idea what you've done?" Peter's voice had lowered to a growl, anger narrowing his eyes as his wings tightened into peaks over his flexed shoulders, "Do you have any idea what you've done to Walter?"

Astrid's jaw set, her dark eyes sparking with aggression, and she remained silent.

"It would have been more humane to take him out behind the head and shoot him like a lame horse!" Peter hissed, "This is unbelievable! Of all people, I thought that you would understand..." his attention snapped over his shoulder, as the kitchen screen door clattered shut again, and Brandon stood on the doorstep.

"Is something wrong?" he questioned.

"No," Peter replied acidly, his gaze returning to Astrid, "Nothing. Get out of here. I think I speak for both Walter and myself when I ask you both to leave."

"Peter-" Astrid started finally, before her eyes suddenly rounded.

Peter's nostrils flared as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and a cry escaped him as a searing pain gouged his shoulder. His vision flashed as his side collided with the gravel, his skin grating under the skid. Dark, savage eyes peered into his own, and a deep, low growl filled his ears, the grip on his bleeding shoulder tightening painfully. Peter struggled under the weight crushing his chest, the metallic scent of his own blood filling his nose.

A deep, guttural snarl sounded, and Walter collided with the stranger, both of them tumbling into the dust in a frenzy of growls and snarls. Peter pushed himself up from the ground, panting with pain, "Walter-!"

The stranger kicked Walter away and rolled to his feet, his teeth barred, "This doesn't concern you, old man!" he growled, his glossy black wings flapping once to clean themselves of dust.

Walter panted as he clutched at his side, stumbling to his feet, "Touch my pup again, and I'll kill you!" he hissed, his reflective eyes flashing.

The stranger's face darkened, and he stepped toward him, tail flicking.

"Philip, that's enough," a dusky voice called calmly, and he froze. A woman seemed to manifest from the side of the shed, her rust-red feathers distorting the lines of her frame against the dented aluminum siding, and Peter blinked, his mind whirring with displaced recognition, "we mean no harm."

"He's old, I can take him," Philip replied, his eyes unmoving fro their lock with Walter's.

"_Try it_," Walter spat.

"Please," The woman paced forward, offering Peter a hand up from the dirt, "I apologize for Philip, he's a little on edge." Peter took her hand, rising, "You're Peter Bishop, aren't you? Oh, dear, that wound looks bad, let me have a look-"

Philip abruptly turned, storming forward to grip her by the wrist, "Don't touch him," he said quietly through his teeth.

"Philip." His name emerged as a straighfaced threat, and she stared up at him for a few moments, before he released her.

"Who are you?" Peter questioned breathlessly, holding his shoulder.

"My name is Nina Sharp, this is Philip Broyles. I mean it when I say that we intend no harm... could we possibly speak inside?"

xXx

"There are few of us left, in the world."

Walter was licking Peter's shoulder clean, and he didn't have the effort to stop him, as he continued to stare. His stare was different from Brandon's, as the man appeared to be amused by almost everything, a small smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watched the proceedings. Peter stared simply because he never had before... seen a female of his kind, that was. Nina was older, it was obvious, but any sort female at all was new, to him. There was a strange sort of smell to them, he decided, one that was not unpleasant, but quite unnerving.

"A fact that may or may not be apparent as it is. How many of our kind have you met, Mr. Bishop?" She appeared quite proper, over her iced tea, as her companion watched her quietly, having calmed but remained alert, as he preened the dust from his large, impressive wingspan.

"Just Walter and my mother."

Nina nodded, "I see. Have you considered why our numbers are narrowing so drastically, Mr. Bishop?"

Peter looked to Walter, whom said nothing, as he continued to clean the wound, and Brandon spoke up suddenly, "It's a mixture of habitat fragmentation and breeding difficulty," he said simply, "before cities and technology developed to their current levels, distance was not a problem, as monsters can range for hundreds of miles, to find a suitable mate. But, with the narrowing of territories, breeding became a matter of opportunity. And with less of a selection, less and less males were thrown, and with a lack of males, population began to decrease."

"But, there are three of us," Peter said, "Males. Walter, Mr. Broyles, and myself."

"To be honest, that in itself is something of a marvel," Nina agreed. Her brows drew together as she looked over Brandon, "you seem to know quite a lot, for a human."

"Well," Brandon replied, a bit smugly.

"If you like him, you can keep him," Walter muttered, his first words in the conversation. Astrid glanced at him sharply, and the air grew uncomfortable as Walter only glared back.

"I have had three pups, Mr. Bishop. All three of them male." Nina said, her gaze dropping to the tabletop. She brushed her fingertips of over the condensation on her glass, "and it would appear that the time is upon me once again to find a suitable mate with which to bare another child."

Peter glanced between Nina and Philip, "So... what seems to be the problem?"

Nina looked up at Philip, whom had finished cleaning his midnight colored feathers to watch her, his dark eyes for once showing something other than cold anger, something that may or may have not been silent pain, "There are... complications. While I have chosen Philip as my denmate, reproduction would prove a terrible risk."

"How does this involve Walter and I?" Peter questioned.

"It's quite simple. You are a strong, healthy male of our species, something rare indeed. Were I to birth a male pup, I feel that you would be strong enough to stop the inevitable, when it came."

"Puberty," Brandon nodded, "when the male reaches it, you'll want to kill it..."

"And eat it," Nina finished calmly. She was silent for a few moments, "as you can see, this is unacceptable."

"Wait a second," Peter said, throwing up a hand to stop her, "so... you want me to kill you, if you have a son? Something like that?"

"No, Mr. Bishop," Nina corrected, "I'd like for you to father my pup."

"I-I beg your pardon?" Peter stammered in shock.

"Seems reasonable," Brandon commented casually, and Philip glared up at him.

"No one asked you," he retorted darkly.

"_Ever_," Walter added, for once allied with the stranger.

It was becoming apparent quite quickly that Brandon was very used to ignoring criticism, or perhaps he was simply ignorant of it in the first place, "No, it makes sense. You two are strangers, and there would be no emotional attachment to complicate things."

"Brandon," Astrid said, drawing in his attention, "I think it's time for us to leave."

"But-" Brandon started, and faltered at her look. He shrugged, and finished the last of his iced tea, rising, "well, peace out, everybody." he flipped his sunglasses onto his face.

"Bye, Peter," Astrid said, and she pushed Brandon out the back door in front of her.

"We're not finished talking, Astrid," he replied, and she nodded.

"I know. Goodbye, Walter," she added, on her way out.

He watched the door shut behind her, before clearing his throat and continuing bandaging Peter's shoulder. The wound was clean and already beginning to mend itself, but Peter had a suspicion that Walter only kept at it to keep himself out of the conversation. It was very, very smart of him.

"So, what is it to be, Mr. Bishop?" Nina questioned evenly, pushing the point as delicately as she was able.

"I- I just don't understand-" Peter continued to stammer, at a loss.

"I smell a female on him," Philip added quietly, and it was Nina's eyes that narrowed dangerously.

"Have you taken on a denmate? I was unaware."

"Not exactly," Peter replied difficultly, "It's just- how? I mean, not _how_, but how? How can you just choose some stranger to father your child?"

Nina arched a fiery brow, "Child? Pup, Mr. Bishop. And it is how our kind exist. If the pup is female, then we will go, and Philip will raise it to the best of our ability. If it is male... Philip will continue to raise it without me. There are, essentially, no strings attracted."

"But... what about Walter? He's... you know, more, ah..." Peter gestured toward Nina in small, half-flailing motions, depictions of his own, unfinished thoughts.

But Walter was shaking his head, "While it would have been no problem, in my younger years, I fear that I have passed my season, Peter. Nina would quite probably kill me, when the time came." He smiled wryly, "girls are scary, like that."

"And if I refuse?" Peter burst at last.

Nina was silent for a few moments, and Philip's fingertips touched her slightly misshapen right wing, and it dipped toward him in comfort, "then I will remain childless." The sentiment was perfectly calm, but a hollow tone of indescribable pain echoed through the kitchen.

xXx


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six.

Sundown saw a considerable drop in temperature, and the wind began to rise. It seemed the brief spell of warm sunshine that often accompanied Astrid had disappeared, and more dark clouds loomed high over the flat horizon.

Peter watched dry, yellow mustard weeds tumble across the fields, caught every now and again by a taller patch of faded grass. He could see Walter's kite tree, from his perch on the eves: a dark, scraggly shape in the fading light of the evening. Somehow he expected to see Walter and Astrid sitting beneath it, their lively conversation reaching him in wind-whipped snippets, but the outdoors remained silent, in constant movement from the wind.

A gust reached him, setting him slightly off-balance as it pressed on his dark, folded wings, and he gripped the beam that held him tighter with his tail, bowing his head against the chill.

"I made macaroni," Walter announced from below him, breaking him from his distracted daze, "If you're hungry."

"Nah," Peter replied distantly, "thanks." He returned his sights to the horizon.

He could nearly feel Walter's eyes watching him for a long while, "Alright. Daddy-Son time," and he set to heaving himself up the creaking framework to reach Peter.

"Walter, it really isn't," Peter assured him, as Walter was poking him to share the beam, and he roosted beside him comfortably, kicking his legs as they dangled.

"Mm-hmm. What's on your mind?" Peter glanced at him with a flat frown, and Walter raised his brows, "Oh. _That_."

"What would you do?" Peter asked.

"Me? I'd accept." Walter squinted at something distant, as he continued, "But I am not you, quite obviously. I think- well, I'm certain we place out priorities in a different manner entirely."

"It's completely insane!" Peter burst, "what are we, animals? Monsters? We're _people_, Walter. Not humans, but people, none the less. And people don't do... something like this."

"Then tell her no," Walter shrugged.

"But..." Peter paused, and exhaled, "Damn it, I don't know. I don't want to, but you saw them- they want a kid, Walter. And who am I to deny them? It seems like Nina's been through so much already, and I'm the last thing she needs..."

"But if you throw a female, she won't need you," Walter pointed out.

"I can't take that risk. I'm trying to think of this rationally, but the whole thing is absolutely crazy."

"You know what else is crazy?" Walter questioned, and Peter looked at a loss, "Women. Why don't you talk to Olivia?"

"Absolutely not!" Peter stammered, heat raising on his face, "She can't- she wouldn't understand it-"

"No, my dear boy, _you_ don't understand it," Walter pointed out with a smile, "at least get half of your bases covered. Olivia is your concern in this, is that correct?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"You love her. Don't look at me like that, I'm not an idiot. And she loves you; she'll listen. More than you do, I'm certain. Olivia is a good woman, and you're lucky to have her, so quit selling her short." He set a hand on Peter's sagging shoulder, "It is a unique ability of the female, to make sense of the senseless."

Peter smirked wryly, "I guess."

"Then it's settled. Call her and make her come over and eat macaroni."

Peter chuckled, "Eat your own macaroni."

They sat in the wind for a while longer, before Peter asked, "Walter, did you love mom?"

Walter looked thoughtful, "Your mother was a strong, beautiful woman. An ideal denmate. But I've only ever loved once in my life, Peter."

Peter's tail flicked with curiosity, "Who?"

Walter smiled, dipping his head to clip his shoulder with a velvety horn, "You, my boy."

Peter let the playful head butt slide off his arm as Walter straightened, "What about Astrid?"

Walter's grin faltered a moment, and he cleared his throat, "Love can't be one-sided," he replied. His grin returned, as he slid backward off the beam, and Peter exclaimed, reaching to catch him. Walter's wings flared, slowing him as he drifted to the dusty floorboards of the attic, "But, in all seriousness. I can't eat all this macaroni by my lonesome, come wash up."

Peter watched his father crawl through the attic hatch and disappear into the dust, and he sighed, "Sorry, Walter."

xXx

He raised his fingers to tap at her bedroom window, and wondered if it could be heard, over the wind. There was shifting, from the shadows within, and he was quiet, as he waited.

Astrid stumbled to her bedroom window, hauling it open as she rubbed her eyes sleepily, "Peter? What are you doing? Why didn't you use the door? I thought you were Walter..." she paused as her senses cut through her sleepiness, and her features sharpened, "What do you want?"

Peter shifted through his messenger bag, drawing out a large Ziploc bag and holding it through the window at her, "Here. Walter made, like, a ridiculous amount of macaroni."

"What's on it?" she questioned, holding the bag up to squint at it.

"Nothing. It's just macaroni, that was the creepy part, he just made macaroni, no topping." Astrid issued a small chuckle, before she could stifle it. Peter sighed, his brows knitting, "Listen, Astrid... I'm sorry. Things were just so crazy, and... I'm glad you're back."

Astrid's jaw tightened, and he was prepared for a reprimand, before tears began to start in her dark eyes, and she burst forward, throwing her arms around him, through the window, "I'm sorry too, Peter," He perched awkwardly in her embrace, and she at last broke away, wiping her eyes, "I just thought it was for the best if..."

"If what?" Peter questioned.

But Astrid shook her head, "Nothing. Come inside." She stepped away from the window, motioning for him to follow.

Peter hesitated, "Listen, if you've got company..."

Astrid let out a laugh, "Oh, you are just too rich, Bird Boy. Come on in."

Peter climbed over the sill, chagrinned, "How was Seattle?"

"I brought you back a coffee cup, and I got Walter a totem. If he even wants it," she said, and he wondered if he heard a small hint of regret in her voice, "I'll run them by tomorrow. If I'm allowed around, anymore."

Peter sighed, shutting the window behind himself, "Astrid, you've got to realize that things... some of the stuff you've done is kind of against the rules... not that there were ever any rules or anything, it's just that..."

"You trust me," Astrid said quietly, "well, trusted me. I know that bringing a stranger to meet you was a little taboo, but not anymore taboo than you telling Olivia what you were."

Peter held up his hands, "Back up the gravy boat. That was completely different. Olivia- she was more like you and Walter-"

"Were you stealing her tomatoes and got stuck in a tree?" Astrid smiled. Peter scratched the back of his neck, "Peter, I didn't just bring Brandon around for laughs. When I met him online-"

"Ah, internet. Makes complete sense now."

Astrid worked to hide her grin as she went on, "He knew so much about your kind, it was crazy. Much more that I did, and I thought that maybe he could help you," She slid her hands into the pockets of her baggy pajama trousers, "I know it sounds strange, but I trust him. And if you trust me, you've got to give him a chance."

"Walter doesn't need any help," Peter pointed out softly, "He needs _you_."

Astrid shook her head quickly, avoiding his stare, "Walter doesn't know he needs help."

"And he _doesn't_ like humans. Just because he lo- likes you doesn't mean he'll put up with anyone else." Peter tried quickly to pick himself up from his stumbling. He sighed again, "but fine. I'll give Brandon a shot. But if he tries to poke Walter with a stick, don't be surprised if he gets his neck broken."

Astrid laughed again, and Peter saw that there were still tears in her eyes.

The bedroom door banged open, making them start, and Peter's pupils contracted as he let out a hiss, pushing Astrid behind him. There was a yell, as Peter dodged a baseball bat, catching his opponent by the throat.

"Whoa, Peter! Hey bra, didn't know it was you," Brandon blinked up at him from the floor, then smiled, "how's it going? I heard voices, I didn't know if someone was up here making trouble..." his eyes darted to Astrid, "'You alright, babe?"

"I'm fine, Brandon," Astrid replied, exasperated, "Don't go waving baseball bats around in my house, okay? Let him up, Peter."

Peter stood, offering him a hand, "Sorry about that, you spooked me."

"My bad," Brandon said, smoothing back his hair as he got to his feet. His regular enthusiasm returned to him, "Those are some crazy fast reflexes, man! It was like _whoosh!_" he made a rushing motion, and Peter frowned with confusion.

"Are all humans as weird as you?" Peter questioned rhetorically.

Brandon smirked, looking flattered, "Nah."

"Okay, Bed time," Astrid said, clapping her hands, "Peter, good talk; Brandon, good rescue attempt."

Peter pushed open the window, crawling out, "goodnight, guys."

"Later, bro. Hey, macaroni!"

xXx


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven.

Peter called her up early the next morning, perhaps a little too early, as her voice was a little raspy with disorientation when she picked up the phone, questioning, "Hello?"

"Olivia?" Peter asked, more to tell her who was calling rather than to confirm whom he had called. He always had a small fear of calling the wrong number, however.

"Oh, Peter. Hey, what's up?"

"Do you... um, would you like to hang out, today?"

"Sure. When?"

"Whenever. You know me- I've never got any sort of plans. I just didn't know what you've got going on; I didn't want to interrupt you. I've just sort of got to talk to you."

There was a soft shifting on the other end of the line, and she sounded amused through her grogginess, "Well, that's new. You've got me curious, now- what do you need to talk about?"

"Just... some stuff. Nothing really big," Peter lied; he didn't want to worry her first thing in the morning, "Astrid's home."

"Really? How is she? I'll bet Walter's happy."

"He's been better. They had something of a falling out," Peter confessed.

"What? Why?"

"She brought some guy up to the house."

There was silence for a few moments, "...That's bad, right?" Olivia asked, her alertness beginning to show through as she came to grasp the situation further, "why would she do that?"

Peter sighed, "It's a long story."

"Obviously. Just how much has happened, since yesterday?"

"Macaroni."

Olivia chuckled, "I'm going to get up and get ready, then I'll head over to the house, alright?"

"Do you want me to pick you up?" Peter questioned, arching a brow as he picked up the old phone, drawing the cord along with him as he paced across the dim hallway to the window, shifting the old curtains aside, "It's raining, outside."

"I'll take an umbrella. I feel like walking- I like the rain."

Peter felt a smile ease onto his face, "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you, too, Peter."

"Peter?" Walter questioned from his perch on the stairway railing, tilting his head to squint down at him. With his mussed grey hair and parted wings, he looked something like an owl, in the dim.

"'Bye, Olivia. see you in a bit."

"'Bye." There was a quiet click, and Peter returned the phone to its place on the stationary desk, letting out a slow exhale as he smoothed the hair at the back his neck, and at last turned to address his father, "Yeah, Walter, what's up?"

"Was that Olivia?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Walter looked somewhat surprised, and he dropped off the railing, slinking down the stairs, "I thought you'd gone to see her last night," he said.

"Nope," Peter replied, volunteering no further information on the subject. Walter was not an independent man, but he didn't need to think he was needlessly mettling in his private affairs. Peter himself had yet to understand Astrid's methods, but he had promised to give her a chance... he just had to wait, and to watch.

He somehow doubted Walter would appreciate such goings-on.

"I'm going to meet Olivia halfway-" Peter started, before he was cut short by the telephone ringing. Both he and his father jumped, as it had been longer than either of them could remember since the ringer had even operated, and Peter was shaken as he lifted the phone, "Hello?"

"Peter?" Olivia questioned.

"Oh. Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Olivia replied, and Peter stilled with confusion and alarm. "Do you know a woman named Nina Sharp?"

Peter felt dread expanding in his chest, and answered, "Yes." Silence followed, and he tried to swallow, stammering on, "Olivia, um..."

"She's here. You should probably come over." The receiver went dead. Walter was watching Peter in worry, as he returned the receiver to the phone.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Stay here- I need to go and see Olivia."

"Do you want to take her some macaroni?" Walter offered, and Peter shook his head as he fumbled on his coat, zipping it up to fold and hide his wings against his back. He was down the front steps as Walter called to him from the front door, "Peter? Is everything alright?"

"No, Walter." Peter climbed into the Vista Cruiser and started it, setting the car into drive before it could warm up.

The drive was bumpy; he spared no time to avoid the ditches, in the rain. His mind was racing as he accelerated onto the interstate, mud hitting the windshield. Why would Nina approach Olivia? What would she tell her? How would Olivia react? His heart in his throat, the drive seemed almost endless.

His tail was squeezing against his thigh inside his trousers in what he could only describe as fear as he leapt out of the car onto the curb, outside of Rachel's house. Rachel and Ella would not be there, of course, between school and work, and Peter could see a sedan parked in the place of their regular jeep.

The wooden door was open to the inside of the house, but the screen door was shut. The door knob rattled as he pushed it open, drying his boots on the floor mat before he traveled in further, calling out dryly, "Olivia?"

He spotted her in the living room doorway and froze, pulse thundering, "Hey," she replied calmly. Coldly, even, and he hated it more than anything else he had ever hated in his life, "Come on in."

Peter ventured toward her, and saw Nina seated in the living room, absently gazing down at the cover of a magazine, "Miss Sharp, what are you doing here?" he demanded with as much courage as he could muster.

Nina looked up at him, "Merely explaining my proposal to your denmate, Mr. Bishop. You seemed rather flustered, yesterday, I didn't know if you had gotten around to discussing it with her."

Peter looked to Olivia, whom only watched him back with that cool, deceptive gaze. He wished so much that she would just yell at him, _something_, "I don't think it's any of your concern, Miss Sharp," he said.

"I was the one that made the proposal, Mr. Bishop," she pointed out.

"Stop calling it that!" Peter burst at last, his tail so tight on his leg that his foot was beginning to tingle.

"Your mate seems reasonable," Nina continued, ignoring his outburst, "More reasonable than you, I feel.'

"Olivia-" Peter started. Olivia held up a hand to silence him.

"She wants a kid," Olivia began evenly, "and she says that she needs a male strong enough to stop her from eating it. Is that right?"

Peter winced at the calm disbelief, if even disgust, in her voice, "Yes, but-"

"But if it's a little girl, you won't have to kill her, because she won't want to eat it."

"Well, yeah, females-"

"This whole thing is kind of fucked up, isn't it?" Olivia smiled, but there was no mirth about her. Peter, all at once, felt disgusting. She sighed quietly, crossing her arms across her chest, tilting her head slightly in question, "What do you think?"

"Me?" Peter said. Olivia continued to watch him. "I-I don't know."

"Hmm." Olivia nodded. She looked to Nina, "Why?"

Nina blinked, "I beg your pardon? Why what?"

"Why Peter?'

"Peter is a suitable male, one capable of fathering healthy offspring and defending them," Nina answered immediately. 'I realize that to you, as a human, this must all seem very strange."

"No," Olivia replied, "It just seems like something that animals would do. Eat their young. Search for mates, not taking into account any sort of relationships involved. I guess that's a human thing."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Nina spoke first, "That's hardly true, miss Dunham. We are completely capable of holding relationships. And it is these relationships, if developed too deeply, that interfere with mating. Peter and I harbor no feelings for one another, so mutual disinterest will work in the interest of-"

"Stop!" Peter cried, "just stop, okay? I don't want anything to do with this, alright? And you had no right to come here! Look, I'm sorry for you, but..." Peter stumbled to a halt as Nina's eyes immediately fell.

She cleared her throat, "I understand. After all, the choice was yours, I was making no demands."

"No- I want to help you, it's just..." He looked to Olivia, "Olivia, I..."

Olivia offered nothing. "I think you need to stop and think, Peter. I think I need to think, too."

xXx

It had been quiet in the house for a number of days, The rain unrelenting. It was very, very depressing.

Nina had gone back to the hotel, he guessed, and he hadn't spoken to Olivia since the encounter. He didn't know if he ever should again, as she had given him no indication as to when, if ever, she wanted to see him again.

Walter occupied his time in his den, his head held low to squint through his optivisors at the tiny incisions he made with an exacto blade on each of his kite sticks, wrapping them carefully with string and bright paper. Peter stood and watched him from the doorway sometimes, in his delicate efforts, but only found it more depressing and went off to find something else to do.

He never found anything, and kept to lurking through the empty rooms, going slightly out of his mind every night he wasn't with Olivia.

"Want to see something neat?" Walter questioned him one day as he followed Peter into the kitchen, and he paused, turning to look back at him. Walter held up a finger, motioning for Peter to wait, and he drew out a small, slightly rusted bit of metal- the internal workings of an old, twist-operated music box. He set the base to the side of his jaw and opened his mouth wide, holding the contraption in place with one hand as he turned the crank with the other.

'Music of the Night' resounded from him with surprising volume. He shut his mouth, muting it, and reopened his mouth to return volume, waggling his eyebrows in an admit-it-you're-impressed kind of way.

Peter gave him a you're-a-total-creeper sort of grin, "How are you doing that?"

"The vibrations use my jawbone as a soundboard. While a good majority of our bones are hollow, the jaw is solid- shins, too. Retains strength, all that jazz." Walter stowed the contraption back into the pocket of his sweater, seeming smug.

Peter paused for a few moments in contemplation, "Walter... I think you've just given me the best idea of all time."

"These are the things that I do," Walter agreed absently, twiddling with the crank of the music box as Peter went to the phone, lifting the receiver to begin jabbing at the old rotary with his finger, "Who are you calling?" Walter questioned, stowing the contraption back in his pocket.

"Astrid," Peter replied quickly, impatient as he listened to the ring back tone, "but more importantly, Brandon."

Walter's eyes instantly narrowed on him, "Why ever would you want to do that?"

"I need them to come over. I need to talk with them."

"Why?"

Peter sighed, "Listen, Walter- I'm kind of busy, right now, and I can't- Yeah, hi, Astrid? It's Peter. Call me back when you get the chance, this is really, really important. Bye," he set down the receiver to end the message, and rubbed his chin in thought, "And Olivia..."

Walter continued to watch his suspiciously, "What is going on?" he demanded at last.

"Walter, I don't have time to explain-"

Walter seemed to expand, in his anger, "No one seems to have any time to tell me anything, anymore! Everything had gone to wash, and no one will give me the time of day! First _she_ brings back some creep from Washington with no explanation, then you run off to see her in the middle of the night, and now you're calling them over!"

Peter paused, "You knew I didn't go to see Olivia?"

"Of course I did!" Walter snapped, reddening slightly, "I could smell her on you from a mile away!"

"Walter, that night-" Peter started, raising his hands in a gesture of reason, but Walter flashed his fangs in warning, "Walter, I just wanted to know-"

"I don't care!" Walter spat. "I don't care what she said to you, I don't care why! I don't care who that little boyfriend she's got thinks he is- I don't want them here!"

Peter leveled his eyes on his father, even as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The man was old, but there was still a sort of menace to him, when he was truly angry, "Walter, you're being unreasonable..."

"I'm an _animal_, Peter, there is no reason I should be reasonable," Walter replied. "I realize that it's not about me; I'm too old for it. But at least have the courtesy to enlighten me with what's going on, rather than treating me like a child!"

Peter dropped his hands and let out an even sigh, "Okay. Alright, Walter. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- it's just been that so much has been happening, and it's all so crazy..." Walter crossed his arms across his front, unconvinced. Peter hung his head. "Give me a chance to explain, okay?"

"I'm listening," Walter responded.

xXx


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight.

Peter watched the road from the open roof eves. The rain made the beams slick, and his tail flared with fear every time he heard lightning crack across the sky, but still he remained at his post, waiting. It already felt like forever.

He supposed he looked something like a gargoyle, his dark wings flared over his head to block the downpour, his nostrils set searching to the wind for any sign of his father returning. The rain rang off the tin, but the rest of the world was smeared and quiet.

"Peter?"

He jumped with a hiss, clawing for his footing and finding none. He dangled off of the beam, his tail switching for a hold as he stammered, his grip growing weak, like his heart, "Olivia."

"Did I scare you?" she questioned, emerging fully from the trapdoor the warm glow of the house shut out behind her. She watched him from the shelter of complete roof, and Peter hauled himself up to his perch, returning to his stance.

"Yeah," he replied. They were silent for a while. Olivia tucked her hands into her armpits, arching her shoulders against the cold. He wished she were under his wings or in his bed, where it was warm, "when did you get here?"

Olivia shrugged, deigning not to answer. Peter looked back out to the road, and tried to take up another smell, but she was near him, now- her scent was the only one he seemed to be able to smell. Not that he minded, "Peter, what do you want?" Olivia asked at last.

Peter returned his eyes to her, "I want a chance to explain myself. To fix this."

Olivia smiled reflexively, and he knew he was a fool to think it genuine, "there's nothing to explain." _But there is something to fix,_ her eyes told him.

"Yes, there is," Peter replied, glancing out to the interstate. He could see Astrid's truck headlights flashing through the weather, before Olivia drew his attention again, shifting in the cold.

"It's pretty hard to fix things when you're up there," she offered plainly. He watched her for a few moments. He had no idea what she was thinking.

His wings flared as he dropped off of the beam, and he felt the weightless, electric feeling of suspension as he landed softly before her. He could see surprise sharpen her eyes for a few moments, and she took an instinctual step backward. He fluffed the wet from his sleek feathers, "then I'll come down." his breath was silver, in the cold.

She made herself bold again as she stepped toward him, her eyes more predatory than anything inhuman about himself, "What did you want to explain?"

He moved past her, toward the trapdoor, and she allowed him to take her hand, "Come on. Astrid's here."

Astrid and Brandon were shaking the wet from their coats on the front porch when Peter opened the front door, "Hey, guys. Glad you could make it. Come on in," he left the door open even as Brandon was brightly yammering on about something to do with dens and territories of large land mammals of North America.

There was a roaring fire in the den that he had been depriving himself of until Olivia arrived, and he lead her inside to a seat, "I'm going to start a pot of coffee," Peter told her as he moved off, before she gripped his hand.

Her cold mask had completely fallen away, the fragile line of her jaw trembling almost invisibly. Before he could stop himself, Peter stooped, nuzzling her damp hair in comfort, "Don't worry," he whispered. Then, he stilled and righted himself, clearing his throat and escaping to the kitchen.

Astrid had made it to the coffee pot before him, and was gathering some mugs when he arrived, "Where's Walter?" she questioned almost immediately.

"I sent him to get Nina Sharp and Philip Broyles," Peter answered. He gathered the sugar jar and passed it onto the counter beside her, "He's got a better sense, to find out where they're nesting. I'm pretty useless, in this kind of weather. Olivia managed to walk all the way to the house without my notice."

Astrid smiled at him wryly, "She's something else, you know."

Peter sighed, "I know."

Brandon was chattering Olivia's ear off, when they emerged into the den with the coffee, "They're fascinating creatures, even if they are endangered, by all accounts. You see, when it comes time for inverse hibernation, they begin to molt feathers, which they regrow in the fall, when they re-emerge. The males of the species begin felting, which means they rub off the soft skin and hair covering their horns. It itches like crazy, I guess-"

"Sandpaper," Astrid added, as she set the cups down on the table, "As fine a gage as you can get."

"Only their denmate can touch their horns, when they felt," Brandon blurted happily, before he paused suddenly, giving Astrid a quizzical look, "anyone else would get torn to shreds..."

"I'm sorry, I never caught your name," Olivia interrupted when she was able.

"Oh, it's Brandon..."

Peter watched them all for a few moments as they talked, the three humans sitting in his den. They looke sort of naked, without feathers or fangs. His entire life, he had thought his extra workings superflous. Only now did it feel more like his companions were incomplete.

His eyes roamed to the pictures on the walls, paintings that had long since faded in the countless abuse of exposed oversummers, photographs that he had never thought to ask his father about. He knew that one of them was of his mother and father, much younger then, standing and grinning with another man, a human, William Bell, Walter's best friend. The man that had exposed him to a group of people that had taken him away. Walter rarely spoke of those years he had been missing, but when he did, it was only in soft growls and whimpers, words of how he had escaped in the middle of the summer; suicide, to their kind, genetically unable to cope with the heat.

How his first taste of freedom had been stealing tomatoes from some produce stand, as he had been too weak to hunt. Peter prayed that he was doing the right thing.

The wind announced their arrival, and Peter's ears caught the sound of Walter's running before the hum of the car engine. At least his hearing was decent, in this kind of weather. They were arriving sooner than he expected, but the sooner this was all done with, the better.

Walter's heavy breath was puffs of shivering white fog, when the door slammed open, and the humans jumped with surprise. Peter could tell he was resisting the urge to shake off the rain that drenched his hair and shoulders, as he stalked across the den, his shadow monstrous against the opposite wall as he took up his post near the fireplace to dry. The water made him appear savage, but his eyes were tired, and hurt, when they turned on Astrid and Brandon, sitting together on the sofa. His tail flicked away from the fire, as it had strayed to close to the flames.

"Walter, do you want some coffee?" Astrid asked softly.

He watched her for a few moments, quietly. Peter could see his mind was working, behind his eyes, and at last he answered softly, "No, thank you," and turned his eyes to his son, "They should be here soon. I'm faster than their car, especially in this weather."

"You're dripping on the rug," Peter replied.

A grin broke the corner of Walter's face, and he smeared hair back, out of his eyes.

Peter answered the door for Nina and Philip when they arrived, shaking rain from their coats and umbrellas. Nina graciously accepted a cup of coffee, but Philip refused, his mood as dark as the weather, "What's this all about, Bishop?"

"Please, come in, sit down," Peter said, leading them into the den. He could see Olivia and Nina exchange glances, and he could not tell if it were aggression or caution he saw go between them, "Yes, everyone's here, good. I can get this started."

But all at once, he quailed. His tongue seemed to cling immovably to the top of his mouth, and his eyes darted between the gathering as his heart began to thunder in his chest. What if this was stupid? What if it couldn't possibly work, if he looked like a fool to them, to Olivia?

But there was nothing to it. It was this, or nothing. He cleared his throat and with a nod from Walter, confessed his decision, "Nina, I can't... I won't father a pup, with you."

Nina took this in stride, her fingers gracing the top of the coffee mug in that calm way of hers, "Very well." she took another drink of her coffee, her wings dipping in defeat, "I respect your decision." Peter was opening his mouth to speak again, when it was Philip's deep, low growling that interrupted him.

"Is that why you brought us here?" He demanded hotly, rising from his seat. His fangs flashed, and he cast off Nina's touch, "To deny us, to humiliate us?"

Peter's brows furrowed as his wings stiffened over his shoulders, "If I could-"

"You're one option of many, Peter Bishop. Do not think yourself such a rarity that-"

"Hey, I'm trying to help you!" Peter snarled.

"_We don't need your help!_" Philip spat, the tuft of his midnight tail flaring as he swatted it about vehemently.

Walter softly interrupted them, "Enough." He slowly shrugged his shoulders, his auburn grey wings stretching wide (at full span, an even six feet) to dry in the warm of the fire. His pupils narrowed into slits, his eyes half closed, enjoying the heat. Peter and Philip exchanged glances, but fell silent.

"You see that?" Brandon narrated quietly to Olivia, and his eyes were round with awe, "I was wrong. He's still the head of his pride- with a wingspan like that, he's showing dominance-"

"Quiet," Philip snapped, his anger turning from Peter to Brandon. Nina touched his arm, as if reassuring him of her allegiance.

"I agree with Dr. Bishop. This fighting is getting us no where. If you refuse my proposal, Peter, then nothing can be done. I am only grateful that you have even considered our situation." she moved to gather her coat, when Peter stilled her, shaking his head.

"You didn't let me finish. I can't just turn you out, it's not fair." He turned his attention to Brandon, whom was still ogling Walter's impressive wingspan, "And if there's anything human about me, I like to think its fairness. Brandon, how long have you been studying us, as a species?"

Brandon ripped his eyes away from Walter, whom for once did not seem to mind his staring, "Ah, I don't know. My whole career. It's hard to manage, when everything is so secret, and people are so blind..."

"How would you like to help us?" Peter questioned.

"What? What can I do?"

Peter smiled at Brandon's helpless and alarmed look, "Repopulate. You said yourself, we're an endangered species. I know for a fact that it's possible to manipulate the sex of offspring- wouldn't it be possible to see that Nina and Philip have a female pup?"

Brandon's jaw was hanging open, and Nina was staring at Peter suspiciously. Philip looked as if he could not settle on an opinion, and merely resumed his look of rage.

Peter looked between all of them, hoping his idea was not as stupid as he felt, "It's possible, isn't it? It would solve everything."

"I guess... I mean, yeah, it's worth a shot... I just never thought I'd be able to..."

"You won't be doing it alone," Peter said firmly, "No offense, but you're..."

"An idiot," Walter murmured, and Peter frowned.

"I was going to say inexperienced. I swear I was. And... I mean, I never got around to graduating, but I've still got my fake degree in Genetics under my belt, hah. For what that's worth. I'll work with you. Together, we could change things, and maybe someday things wouldn't have to be the way they are, for Nina and Philip."

Brandon looked as if he were about to cry. Nina was crying, her hand pressed over her mouth as she clutched Philip's hand, and he gently smoothed the feathers of her misshapen wing in comfort. She shifted to bury her face in his neck, and sobbed with joy.

Olivia was watching the proceedings, at a loss. Her eyes found Peter, amidst the chaos, and he smiled at her hopelessly. It was everything he could do. For all of them.

xXx


	9. Final Chapter

Final Chapter.

The clouds were puffy pockets of steam, you could almost see them forming, sweeping their way up from the vast fields that sprawled out from their large, arid home. It was a place where sky met earth, perfect for secrets and wind.

Peter was loading his dusty, faded duffel bag into the back of the station wagon, shuffling it aside to leave more room for Philip and Nina's things. They would be traveling in their own car with Brandon, and he had agreed to carry the luggage in the Vista Cruiser to make more space. In truth, he had done it mostly to see how long Philip would last, with Brandon chattering his ear off and analyzing everything he did. Even now, the scientist was going on about what steps he would take, when they got to the university in Seattle; "To be honest, I'm surprised to find such a small monster community in Washington. The settings are idea, for your species, there's seclusion and good hunting and it's cold..."

Peter shook his head, "And cliffs. We don't like cliffs."

"Or water. The kind you can't drink, " Walter added. He had been watching the packing process from the porch, but had soon dropped from his perch to check the fluids in the car. Peter figured it was more to fill his time, as his anxiousness grew. Walter had never been fond of goodbyes.

Brandon looked amazed, "For cereal?" he questioned.

"For what?" Walter questioned flatly, but Brandon was jotting down a note. Walter rolled his eyes, shutting the hood and wiping his hands of a shop rag as he headed for the porch.

"Um, a small thing," Brandon at last spoke up, and Walter turned back toward him, frowning flatly. The man did not seem to know when he was pushing his luck, "Dr. Bishop." he held up a pen.

Walter arched a brow, cautiously curious.

"Well, ah, the thing is... I was wondering if maybe you could sign your book for me?" He produced an old, tattered hardcover, black cover faded and splotted with coffee rings, and flushed with embarrassment, his ears burning, "I've read it a million times, I guess. It was what first got me interested in undocumented species, and when I learned... when Astrid said she knew you, I just had to meet you... and I know I can get pretty annoying and everything, but-" Walter suddenly plucked the book from his fingers, and he flinched in surprise.

"You wrote a book?" Peter questioned.

"Eons ago," Walter murmured, flipping through the yellowed pages, "Dear god, this is from back in school, it started as my thesis... " Walter looked up at him, "Where did you get this?"

Brandon shrugged a shoulder shyly, "everyone in my field has read it. It's a small field, I know, but it's still pretty mind-blowing."

Peter smirked at his father, whose ears were reddening, "and how come I've never heard of this?"

"Because it's rubbish," Walter protested gruffly.

"It is not!" Brandon exclaimed in child-like defiance. He quailed again, "I-I mean, uh..."

Walter watched him for a few, hard moments, and Brandon shifted uncomfortably. Walter sighed through his nose, and Peter could tell by the way he fluffed his wings out impressively that he was trying his hardest not to seem pleased, and flipped the cover open, scribbling his appellation. He thrust the book and pen to Brandon's chest, growling "Don't tell any of them where you found me." his glare softened, "I don't think I could stand any more of your kind around here."

Brandon was dazed, smiling stupidly, "You got it, Dr. B.," he breathed.

Philip Broyles slammed the trunk of the Vista Cruiser, gruffly dusting his hands, "are toy sure this scrap heap will make it all the way to Seattle?" He questioned uncertainly.

"If she falls, I'll just grab the saddle and keep walking," Peter assured him. Philip looked strange, with the fedora tipped low on his brow, to hide his thorn-black horns. But it did not look bad- he supposed that, despite his aggression issues, Philip was a very fine specimen, disguised as a human or otherwise. Nina had made a good choice, when she had chosen him.

"This had better work, Bishop," he said gruffly, but much of his malice was lost, to tired worry, and what sounded to be faint hope.

Peter rested a hand on his shoulder briefly, in a gesture of comfort, "I won't stop until it does, I promise." Broyles shrugged off his touch with a grateful glance, and moved off to be with his mate.

The belts tightened around Peter's chest as his wings attempted to flare them with surprise when Olivia wrapped her arms around him from behind, and he chuckled, "You're getting as bad as Walter, sneaking up on me."

"You don't perceive her as a threat," Brandon piped up. Under the prompting of Peter and Olivia's gaze, he dipped his head, shuffling off for the car clutching his prized book.

"You're going to have to work hard, to get this done before you have to go to sleep again, "Olivia murmured in his ear, before he turned in her hold, draping his arms around her waist.

"I plan on it," Peter answered, nuzzling her hair gently and nipping at her ear. Her fingers trailed along the back of his neck, and he continued, "I'm coming home to sleep, though. Walter can't make this place airtight by himself."

"I was wondering," Olivia asked, pulling back at him enough to look into his face, "If..."

"If what?" Peter smiled, tracing her hair behind her ear.

"Well... I've never slept with you. Not the both of us, together. I was wondering if I might spend the first night with you, before shipping off back to New York." Her teeth grabbed at her lower lip uncertainly, as her eyes searched his face.

Peter gathered her closely, kissing her passionately, "I love you," he whispered, his voice thick. She chuckled softly.

"I'll- oop, sorry," Astrid said, stepping back the way she had come down the porch steps, her palms upraised in apology.

"No, what is it?" Peter questioned, releasing Olivia to hold her hand.

"I was going to say, I'll take good care of Walter," Astrid said, smiling at the both of them, "Feed him, and take him out for walks. I'll even have him bathing regularly, by the time you get back," she gave him a thumbs-up, and Peter laughed.

"Well, then, best of luck to you," Peter replied.

"And the first rule," Astrid said, as Walter appeared on the steps behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head and draping his arms over her shoulders lazily, "Is no eating dead mice in the house."

Walter looked offended, his wings ruffling and his tail batting her sharply on the backside. Astrid let out a laugh, reaching up to curl a finger around one of his soft horns and tug.

Peter left them there, leading Olivia back around the station wagon as he pulled open the driver's door, "Are they...?" Olivia questioned, indicating Walter and Astrid.

He glanced back at the two, Astrid happily chatting with Nina as Walter's tail quietly circled her wrist, stroking the back of her hand, "You know... I think she's got him tamed."

"Welp," Brandon said, stretching as he addressed Astrid. He slid his reflective bomber shades onto his nose, "I guess this it goodbye, babe."

Astrid smiled, and Walter returned to his defensive stance behind her, "Yeah, I guess it is." She stepped forward, kissing him lightly on the brow, and Walter looked more flustered than ever, "Thank you so much, Brandon."

Brandon was still from a few moments, before he cleared his throat, "Yeah, well. What can I say, I'm a free spirit, and I've got to feel the wind under my wings. You're a cool chick; I just don't think it would have worked out. I'm just a wild man, y'know?" he grinned, and Astrid laughed, "'Later Astrid, Dr. B," he gave them an airy salute, and sauntered to the backseat of Philip and Nina's sedan.

Walter stuck his tongue out at him.

Peter slid down into the driver's seat with a grunt, shutting the door. Olivia leaned in through the open window, giving him a kiss, "don't forget to call, and tell me where you're staying so I can visit," she told him, tapping him on the nose, and he made a small face.

"Will do," he assured her.

"I love you, Peter," Olivia smiled.

"I love you, too," he gripped her arm gently, and kissed her again. He smiled at her, and she moved away from the car, as he started the engine.

"Peter," Walter had leaned down to peer through the off driver's window at him. His blue eyes were alarmingly clear, black pupils drawn into wide slits. His voice dipped low, so low that only Peter could hear, "Remember where you come from, son." and he offered him a feather; a long flight feather, nearly the length of his forearm. It was handsomely striped with golds and dark browns, and tipped with midnight black.

From his mother.

Peter took it from him, fingering it smooth, and he returned his eyes to his father, "I won't." he left the feather in the off driver's seat, and cranked the car into gear.

"Call, Peter!" Astrid called from the front porch.

"I will!" Peter answered, waving. His last look was to Olivia, whom smiled at him.

_I've finally gotten it right._

The driveway was bumpier than he remember, the ruts deeper than before, as if trying to block his path and keep him here, where he belonged. With his pride. Carefully he maneuvered the road, the junk in the back of the long car rattling and sending dust into the air. It looked as gold as the long, open fields of wheat he passed, in the noonday sun. It was wonderful, that the storm had broken for him to leave.

xXx

END.


End file.
